


A Hard Left Down Degeneracy Alley

by Penbomb



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series)
Genre: Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, Drugs, F/M, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Other, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 12:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8844274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penbomb/pseuds/Penbomb
Summary: /guz/ was sharing come headcanons about ya boy being a pushy stoner, so I decided to take it and run with it. Guzma/Reader (ambiguous sex), drugs, rough sex, degeneracy, etc.





	

You sit hunched in the alleyway sandwiched between two seemingly long abandoned buildings. The sky above pours down rain mercilessly, punctuating your rather dour mood. You didn't just fail your last trial, you were obliterated by it. You were so completely useless, and your Pokemon paid the price for your hubris. You just weren't good enough... weren't hard enough. Your thoughts kept spiraling, piling condemnation upon condemnation on top of yourself.

“Hey kid, you look pretty beat down.” A voice jolts you from your pity party. Looking up, you're astonished to see a giant of a man who had somehow snuck up on you. His baggy black clothes looked dry though... had he been here the whole time? You feel your face heat up and scramble to put on your undaunted 'professional trainer' expression, but a low, rumbling chuckle from the stranger cuts through your attempt at facade.

The man squats down besides you, balancing precariously on his toes as he slumps down to a less imposing height. Still something about him unsettles you as you feel him size you up. His eyes are just a bit too wild, his movements just a bit too relaxed. 

He pulls what looks like a block of wood from his jacket pocket and tilts it towards you, giving you a goofy, lop-sided grin. “What's a matter? Ya never seen one a these before?” You haven't the foggiest what he's talking about. Taking your silence as admission he chuckles again, flicking the top of the box and revealing a pair of small holes in it. What looks like a tiny metallic cigarette pops out of one hole. Soon after he opened the box an ungodly stench assaults you. It smells like a hot Skuntank butthole... why would anyone carry such a thing around with them?

He seems amused by your visible cringing and puts the small pipe to his lips. He produces a lighter from some other fold in his mass of baggy clothing and lights it, breathing in deeply of the dank smelling substance. He closes his eyes, leaning back against the wall as he held his breath. Tendrils of smoke casually wafted from his nostrils before he exhaled it all in a heady cloud of smog. 

He giggles and offers the tiny pipe to you again. “C'mon numskull, you look like you need it,” he insists. Cautiously you accept it and the lighter as well, staring at the somewhat foreign objects with some awe. You'd always been a 'good kid'. You were going to go out on your trials, you were gonna win them all, beat everyone, make something of yourself... but look at you now... crying in an ally next to a weirdo who smelled like Skunktank buttholes...

You stop hesitating and in one quick rush you imitate what you saw the stranger do, lighting the pipe and sucking hard. Too hard. The smoke scorches your throat, makes your eyes water, and sends shocks straight to your brain. Everything begins to spin as you launch into violent hacking fits. Even as you gasp for breath it feels like a part of you is leaving your body behind. Are you dying? Is this what dying feels like? Oh god you're dying! 

The stranger's laughter grounds you for a moment and you feel a hand roughly seize your shoulder to steady you. “Easy there lightweight,” he chastises you playfully. He yanks his paraphernalia back from you and gives you a rough pat on the back. “There. Still feelin upset kid?”

His words seem far away. You know that you know what the words mean, but the meaning comes to you very slowly. It takes time to process each word, then twice as long to piece together each meaning into a sentence. The process feels like it takes hours in your mind, as you stare slack jawed and wide eyed at him. 

“That's what I thought,” he smirks in a very self-satisfied manner and loads another bowl for himself. He takes another hit as a comfortable silence passes between you. You watch the smoke leak from the corners of his mouth with renewed awe, fascinated at the way they wave and twist across his lips. His rough, cracked lips that looked oh so chewable from where you were sitting... Rough lips, smooth face, strong jaw...

“See something you like?” he sneered with the pipe clenched between his teeth. He watched your expression carefully, seeing how your face lit up with embarrassment and relishing it. He seemed barely able to contain his laughter as he sparked up once again.

You shrink back, knowing you should feel mortified. You want to stammer out and apology or something, but the instant you open your mouth you feel something grab you by the collar and yank you forward. His lips crash down onto yours fiercely, locking with yours as he exhales the hit into your open mouth. 

“Ya like that too?” he taunts with his lips still hovering mere inches from yours. You stare into those wild eyes of his and nod timidly. He grinds and kisses you again, this time with even more force. You can feel the coarseness of his lips on own, and they tasted exactly how you imagined they would. You can't help but moan like Ninetails in heat as you squirm and try to return the affection with equal fervor.

He doesn't seem as interested in your reciprocating though as he leans over you. His hands are deft and focused even on the drugs while your movements are erratic and sloppy. It's like he's done this all before, many times even. He finds the fastenings on your clothes in record time and strips them away as if they were nothing. He guides you out of your top first, exposing your bare flesh to the cool, damp air. 

You become even more painfully aware of his hands, big, warm hands stroking and pawing at every square inch of you. Your chest. Your stomach. Your thighs. Grabbing. Pinching. Slapping. You bite down on your own lip to stifle yourself, but a groan slips out as you squirm and thrash. You don't recall how he got on top of you, but the stranger is straddling your hips now, his bulge showing prominently even through his baggy pants. His smile is no longer playful but wide and wild as he looks down upon you like helpless prey.

He tears down your pants with less finesse and reserve as he did your shirt. Each probing grope of his curious hands becomes harder and more vicious. You can feel blood well to the surface every where his hands trail, leaving a host of impressive bruises across your naked form. While normally such a thing would cause you to panic, right here, right now, in this altered state you could only find yourself more and more aroused as the frenzied man marks you like his very own property. 

You want this. You don't know why, but you want this. You want to submit to him, want him to tear you apart. Maybe it's the drugs. Maybe this pitiful streak was always sleeping inside you. You just know that never, anywhere in your life, have you felt like you belong anywhere so much as you do now while pinned under this.

As he repositions himself he shrugs off his billowy jacket, revealing a much more muscled form than you could have anticipated. He unfastens his own belt and unzips his pants, finally letting his own cock spill free. It was no less impressive than the reset of him. Big. Hard. Hot. He seizes a handful of your ass, lifting you up to align with the head of his stiff and ready member.

He presses a thumb into your asshole, grinning ear-to-ear as it slides in almost effortlessly. “You're really relaxed huh? This should be pretty easy,” he says with careful, timid thrusts. He retracts his free hand and shoves his fingers into your mouth instead. “Just bite down if it hurts, kid.”

That was all the warning you got as a white hot poker pierces into you. You try to scream, but you find his fingers are gagging you as much as anything. You gargle out an incoherent sound of pain and thrash violently on the tip of his prick, but it does nothing to dissuade him from pressing deeper. His thrusts are ragged and haphazard as he struggles to stretch you around his girth. “Gotta relax for me a little more... unless you're some kinda freak who's into that.”

Maybe you are. The idea seems to excite him too as his thrusts become faster and harder. You can feel part of yourself tearing with each thrust, part of your body being ruined by his dick with every jerk of his hips, and deep down, in some distant and burred inner hell, you love that fact. You moan your satisfaction, looking up at the older man with adoration. 

His grunts become louder, his thrusts shorter and rougher, and his grip on you even tighter. “Get ready... here... it... comes!” A bellowing roar of a groan escapes him as you feel a rush of liquid warmth wash through you. You bite down on his fingers hard as you feel your own muscles tense and spasm under the intense flood of sensation. 

“Ah, bitch!” suddenly the hand is yanked from your mouth. He swings a swift, hard backhand across your face, causing your head to snap to the side from the force of impact. Your head is swimming, and between all the stimulus ravaging you the vicious strike barely registers. 

You look up into your brutal lover's eyes though, and you can see all the mad glee drain from his expression. He looks down at you, covered in bruises from head to toe, leaking a mix of blood and cum from your newly gaped asshole and he looks... disgusted. You hear him mutter something to himself as he stuffs himself back into his pants and retrieves his discarded jacket. Something something... 'Guzma, what are you doing?'

Every single muscle in your body feels torn, but somehow you manage to stumble into your own clothing again, though you're a far cry form standing up any time soon. Companies with the occasional gush of fluids from your rump meant you'd probably be holed up in this alley for some time,

With his clothing proper back on, Guzma recomposes himself, grinning as if none of the past several minutes had taken place. “It's a dog-eat-dog world out there kiddo. And Team Skull, we're the dogs that run Po Town, yo. Whenever life beats you down again, you come to us, if you know what's good for you.” He places his hands on his hips and lets out a loud, albeit forced sounding laugh to punctuate his rather awkward invitation.

“And you ever need another fix, just call on ya boy,” he says. You want to say something, but he gives you that crooked smirk, parallel to his crooked shades, that leaves you feeling both hot and frozen. He gives a back handed wave and departs just as coolly as he arrived. 

Beyond the alley way you can see the veil of rain beginning to break. Maybe it's the drugs, maybe that knock to the head scrambled your brains... but for some reason you feel content for the first time since you set foot on your journey.


End file.
